Wiglaf
by Beater with a Brain
Summary: Beowulf's successor, Wiglaf, fights off harpies. Oneshot, no pairing


Author's Notes: A reprinting if you will of the first story I ever put on FFN, though not the first fanfic I ever wrote. I wrote it for a class in high school and put it up, where it has had slight success, but as it is Beowulf I was not expecting much to be honest. The end product is reward enough. Anyway, I need to take my name off of this site and everything, and this needed a proper introduction, so here it is I suppose.

Disclaimer: Unlike most things on this site, no disclaimer is needed for this story, as although I do not own Beowulf, neither does anyone else, as it was written in ancient English. (This means Old English, a language that looks nothing like our own English and in fact more like a cross of Celtic and German. Shakespeare wrote in New English, this is before that and before Middle English. In other words, whoever originally wrote the epic poem has been dead for a very long time. )

So anyway, that ends the history lesson, please enjoy…

Wiglaf

It was high summer in the land of the Geats

When word reached the great king

Of a horror in the north.

An army of winged women, possessed by birds,

Plagued the villages in nearby lands,

Moving southward, toward his home.

But the Great King Wiglaf, son of Torbin,

Mentee of Beowulf, was never afraid.

He had faced down dragons and trolls,

Chimeras and acromantulas,

Ligers and kelpies,

And come back with only scratches

For all the work of his enemies.

So it was with confidence that Wiglaf,

The most noble warrior,

Set out for the lands of the north

With only six of his men.

He wished he could fight alone,

But he was bound by tradition

And his own desire for proof of his greatness

To bring along some to aid him in his quest.

So the party set sail for the northern lands

Where was next expected the vicious creatures would attack.

And there he was truly greeted as a king.

He and his men were served the finest wine

And the best meat and bread the hosts could find.

They and their hosts drank and made merry.

And the next day they heard the flapping

Of thrice a hundred wings

Making their way towards the hall.

And Wiglaf, honored son of Torbin,

Told the warriors of the host land

To stay in the hall.

He was to fight alone if he had his way

But if he could not

As he was a mere mortal man

His men only would fight with him.

So he and his men departed the hall.

They strode nobly towards the sound

Of beating wings on beasts.

As they neared the farmland northeast of the hall

Other sounds became clear

Between the beating wings.

There were sounds of crunching bones, of dying stock,

Of claws and teeth shredding flesh.

And as they reached the top of the next hill,

They saw the harpies, half and one hundreds in number.

Creatures larger than they,

Women with fierce yellow eyes,

Sharpened teeth and talons,

And great gray wings.

Hair and feathers flew about them

As they devoured the stock of the farms

On the outskirts of the towns.

A few of the monsters raised their heads

Then more and more

Until all were looking about

Trying to find the source of the scene

Of fresh human blood.

Then the largest of them all arose from the flock.

She scanned the surrounding area

With those horrid yellow eyes

That would have frightened a lesser man

Than the brave King Wiglaf.

She searched the area

With those eyes and her beaklike nose

Until she found the scent

And narrowed her eyes on the great hero of the Geats.

Their eyes seemed to meet.

But it was only for mere seconds

Before she raised her arm

And pointed two clawed fingers

Towards the mentee of Beowulf.

Then she, the obvious leader of the flock,

Threw her head back and let out a piercing sound

Between a siren's call and a bird's screech.

The others lifted their heads,

Their mouths red from the blood of hogs and sheep,

And turned their heads in the direction of their leader's fingers.

They saw the heroes and all rose into the air.

The leader let out another screech

And as one, the lesser harpies speed through the air,

Towards the fresh blood.

Wiglaf drew his sword and gave a signal for his men

To draw weapons as well.

Though Wiglaf was a proud fighter,

He knew he could not stand to live

In a fight against so many.

As the first of the harpies drew near.

Mighty Wiglaf raised his sword

And slashed through the bodies of four harpies at once.

While his men fought valiantly

One on one with harpy after harpy,

Great Wiglaf seemed to be invincible.

He moved with the grace of a great cat,

Slaying his prey, the birds.

He ducked around their slashing claws

And avoided the sharp teeth.

The women scratched at his shield and his armor

But could not reach his flesh.

Wave after wave of them came at Wiglaf and his men,

And all were slain

Until there were but a few left alive.

It was then, that the harpy leader

Moved from her position behind the ranks,

Commanding them from afar.

Her rage was tangible

And the air was thick with hatred.

She shot forward, straight at Wiglaf.

The other harpies left the Geat's king,

Leaving him for their leader, they went for his men,

But were quickly slain.

Until there was only one.

Wiglaf motioned for his men to stay back.

This would be a one-on-one battle,

Harpy and man, queen and king.

She attacked, her hands flying, claws slashing at shield and air.

He raised his sword and swung it at the harpy

But she was as evasive as he.

They ducked each other's advances

Until at last, the claws, long and sharp,

Broke through the shield.

With nothing left between them,

She was more open to attacks

And he had less guard against hers.

Their battle became a dance,

As they circled each other

Their weapons clashing,

Hers natural, his external.

Until his sword finally met her body.

He slashed her across the stomach

And she fell from the air.

She lay motionless on the ground.

And breathed no more.


End file.
